


Lucky For You

by Catchclaw



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Feelings, M/M, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26526535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: It’s the girl’s fault. Hers, and the cheap tequila’s.
Relationships: Steve Murphy/Javier Pena/Original Female Character, Steve Murphy/Javier Peña
Comments: 12
Kudos: 74





	Lucky For You

It’s the girl’s fault. Hers, and the cheap tequila’s. 

They’ve been working too hard, there’s that, too; long hours of grind that haven’t gotten them anywhere except here, a rundown motel with thin sheets and an asthmatic AC and that’s why this is happening, the worst idea Javi’s had in, fuck, twenty years.

When he was 14, he stole his dad’s keys from the kitchen table and went for a joyride in the middle of the night. He plunged the truck nowhere in particular, just way out into the fields, as far as he could get from the house without it feeling like the dark was gonna swallow him up--all those stars, that’s what he remembers, the glitter of the river. The sense that if he kept his foot on the gas, he could go on forever, and the night would, too; the sun would never come up.

He’d been terrified the whole time. Of what, looking back, he wasn’t sure. His dad’s anger, maybe; it was a thing he was familiar with then, but it was more of the smoldering kind, a pyre of simmering disappointment that expressed itself in a sigh, or in a raised eyebrow above the ridge of thick glasses that said more in the silence then most people’s fury ever could. 

No, it wasn’t that.

Of getting lost, maybe? Of not being able to find his way back? But he couldn’t have, no many how many acres there were to the ranch. There were too many fences keeping him in.

Shit. What had scared him was the same thing that had made him feel so good--that weird sensation of night everlasting, of living suspended in time, of stars that pulled the curtain of dark so far beyond the horizon in those small, silent hours that he couldn’t actually comprehend the sun ever rising again; how could it when the night was so deep and so wide?

Twenty years on and that feeling’s back again, here in this room, in this bed. They’re at the soft edge of the Columbian jungle and they’re both sore from sitting all day, from waiting, from wishing, frankly, for any goddamn thing to happen and it hadn’t--another bad tip, another burned to the ground fucking day--and it was too far to drive back at night so it had only seemed right to drink themselves shitfaced in a hole-in-the-wall until the frustration blurred a little, all those lost, heat-soaked hours waiting for the _malos_ to show up.

But then they weren’t alone; a girl was there between them. Dark hair and a fresh from the farm face and a smirk that made Javi wonder if she’d stolen her _papa_ ’s keys, too, and sped down into town after dark.

“ _Es tuyo_?” she’d asked him, eyeing Murphy as he ambled up to the bar to pick up the next round.

The question should have startled him; he was smashed enough that it’d just made him laugh. “ _Así no_. _Él está casado.”_

“ _Claro, pero no para ti_.”

“ _No, no para mi._ ” He’d tugged at a loose curl that the heat had pulled from her braid. _“Le gustan las rubias, querida_.”

She hadn’t moved away from his fingers. Instead, she’d touched his face, her thumb turning over the curve of his chin. “ _Yo también_ ,” she’d said. “ _Pero también me gusta el cabello oscuro. Qué suerte, eh_?”

And now she’s pressed between them, her back against Javi’s chest and her thighs spread across Murphy’s lap and Murphy’s mouth on her tits and oh, how she’s sighing, these soft, dreamy sounds that make Javi ache to be inside her, to pull down the hot cotton of her _bragas_ and sink into the clutch of her cunt but he’s enjoying this too goddamn much: cupping the weight of her breasts and listening to Murphy’s breath hitch every time his lips catch the tips of Javi’s fingers and fuck, he’s drunk, but it’s the best scariest feeling he’s had his whole life and he never wants it to end.

“Do you want him to fuck you?” he whispers in two languages. “Hmm? Do you want his cock inside you, pretty girl?”

She whines and Murphy does, too, greedy, needy sounds that go straight to Javi’s dick.

He kisses her neck, holds her steady when Murphy lifts his head and licks into her mouth. “Good,” he murmurs. “That’s so good. Of course you do, _cariño_. He’s made you so wet. I think we should show him, don’t you?”

Then her panties are gone, torn a little in his eagerness, in hers, and she’s squirming in Murphy’s lap, her body plush and bare and they’ve both still got their jeans on, for Christ’s sake--Javi’s still wearing his shirt--but it doesn’t matter, any of that, because they’re both touching her pussy, both stroking their fingers through dark curls that are tangled and damp and for some goddamn, gorgeous reason, Murphy is watching _him_ , not this incandescent creature between them who’s fucking begging for cock. No, Murphy’s eyes are locked in his, wide and heavy and startled, his mouth falling open as their fingers meet over her clit.

 _“Dentro_ ,” the girl pants. She’s clutching at Murphy’s shoulders, pitched forward, the swell of her ass pressed back against Javi’s hips, the heat of his dick. _“Lo necesito, por favor. Dentro_.”

“Put your fingers inside her,” Javi says. His mouth’s a desert. “She wants to feel you.”

“Yeah?” Murphy tips his face up and nuzzles her cheek, so close that Javi can feel the curl of his breath. “Huh. I wanna feel her, too. Feel how tight she’s gonna get when you make her come. And then..."

And then he twists his wrist and Javi’s fingers are alone on her clit and she’s moving, fucking herself down on Steve’s hand and they’re both swearing, they all are, her pussy blooming between them, the sounds of pleasure approaching, the slap of skin and the smell of her wet.

“And then,” Murphy says as the girl moans into his face, as he fucking stares Javi down, “and then I wanna watch you fuck her.”

Her clit is stiff now, the soft hills of her body trembling as Murphy’s fingers turn piston, the bare skin of his stomach a brand as it bumps the back of Javi’s hand. Shit. “You do, huh?” Javi gets out. “Why don’t you just fuck her yourself, _tonto_?”

Steve laughs, _laughs_ , the bastard, breathes in and out and covers Javi’s face in it, this high, breathy thing. “Because,” he says, “because I want to watch you do it, asshole.”

His words come out as a snarl. “Why? You need somebody to show you how it’s done?”

“God, you’re stupid,” Murphy says, and then his hand is on Javi’s face, like the girl’s was at the bar, his eyes soft with heat and unquestionable affection. “You are so fucking dumb sometimes, Javi.”

When she comes, she shouts and shatters the air that’s left between them and it only makes sense then to turn his face around her dark head and find Steve’s mouth there, waiting, tasting of salt and stale and too much tequila but it’s perfect that way. It is.

**Author's Note:**

> Gods bless Pedro Pascal.


End file.
